


Let's Just

by coffeeinallcaps



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let’s just,” Stiles gasps against Derek’s mouth, both of his hands tugging ineffectively at Derek’s belt, “let’s just— oh, fuck—”</p><p>His dick fits into Derek’s palm like they were made for each other, Stiles’ dick and Derek’s palm, a match made in heaven, and Derek runs his thumb around the head and nods. <i>Yeah</i>, he thinks as Stiles breathes out a hot wet moan into the curve of his neck, impatiently bucks up into the circle of Derek’s hand. <i>Let’s just.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Just

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com/post/86943602281/lets-just) a gazillion years ago. I'm backdating this so that it will show up in my works on the date it was originally posted (May 27, 2014) rather than the day I archived it (May 11, 2016).

Stiles comes home from college for the summer, and Derek wouldn’t care except he walks into Scott’s house and there’s Stiles sitting at the kitchen table, with his legs splayed apart and one arm slung over the back of the chair next to his, his other hand resting loosely around the neck of a beer bottle, and Derek’s mouth goes dry.

There’s no ill-fitting plaid shirt, no wrinkled pants. There’s tight jeans and a soft-looking V-neck sweater. There’s the aura of sex and self-satisfaction.

There’s Stiles half-smirking, doing a casual little finger twirl, saying, “He-ey, Derek,” like they’re— like they’re _buddies_ , frat bros, like they were chugging pitchers and slapping each other’s shoulders last night, maybe even drunkenly jerking off side by side in a no homo sort of way, and.

Up to this point in his life Derek has managed to chalk any and all attraction to Stiles up to extenuating circumstances (stress, blood loss, hypothermia, etc.), but _this_. Stiles turning into a confident sexual prodigy in freshman year is unexpected, and wrong, and Derek doesn’t know where to go from here.

Evidently Stiles does, though, because his smile widens and he blinks languidly, and then he’s tipping his head back and taking long, unapologetic swigs from his beer. He sets the bottle back down on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, in a voice deeper and scratchier than Derek remembers it being, “How’ve you been?”

 

* * *

 

“Let’s just,” Stiles gasps against Derek’s mouth, both of his hands tugging ineffectively at Derek’s belt, “let’s just— oh, _fuck_ —”

His dick feels warm and fat. It fits into Derek’s palm like they were made for each other, Stiles’ dick and Derek’s palm, a match made in heaven, and Derek runs his thumb around the head and nods. _Yeah_ , he thinks as Stiles breathes out a hot wet moan into the curve of his neck, impatiently bucks up into the circle of Derek’s hand. _Let’s just._

 

* * *

 

Stiles’ mouth fits around Derek’s dick like they were made for each other as well, and Stiles appears to be thinking the same thing because he holds Derek’s hips down and expertly, ruthlessly coaxes him to the brink of orgasm. He uses every trick in the book, flutters his eyelashes and hollows his cheeks and runs a wet finger between Derek’s ass cheeks and sucks on his balls and keeps moaning softly and.

The last lucid thought Derek remembers having is that surely Stiles has been getting paid for this, and if not he should be, holy shit he should be capitalizing on these skills, and from there on everything is kind of fuzzy for a while, except for the vague scorching image of Stiles fucking himself on Derek’s dick and Derek begging for him to stop and to never stop and always keep going at the same time, and oh god the noises.

Stiles is easing himself off Derek’s dick with a satisfied grunt when Derek descends back into his own body. “That was almost as mind-blowing as I always imagined it to be,” Stiles says. Derek lets out a weak hum of agreement and watches him tie off the condom with swift, practiced moves, winking at Derek when their eyes catch.

 

Derek calls Stiles that evening, says, “Did— what did you mean, almost as mind-blowing?” and Stiles says, “I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you since the day we met, wanna hear?” and Derek stays on the line as Stiles brings himself off to the sound of his own voice, low and breathy, detailing everything he wants to do to Derek, everything he wants Derek to do to him. Derek still feels raw and wrung out from their earlier round, but he strokes his dick through his sweatpants and closes his eyes and listens.

 

* * *

 

Stiles calls him, says, “Hey, you wanna—” and Derek cuts in with, “Sure,” and Stiles laughs that full-body laugh of his (Derek can’t see but he remembers) and they drive somewhere and have sex in the backseat of the Toyota. It’s sticky and impractical, despite Stiles’ admittedly impressive demonstration of flexibility. Stiles comes on the leather even though Derek repeatedly told him not to, and they argue about it all the way back to Beacon Hills.

 

* * *

 

On the last day of Stiles’ break Stiles comes over to watch a movie and they end up making out and dry-humping on the couch. Derek is dangerously close to being the first to come in his underwear, so to save face he thumbs open his jeans and rubs off against Stiles’ stomach.

“Filthy,” Stiles says, pleased, and he pushes and pulls at Derek until he’s on top, then slithers down Derek’s body to settle between his thighs. “I’m going to miss you,” he tells Derek’s dick, and he licks and sucks the come off the tip until Derek pushes his head away.

 

* * *

 

Stiles calls him a few weeks later. His voice sounds lazy, decelerated, like he’s on something. “Derek,” he says slowly, rounding out the vowel sounds, “hey, you wanna come over and get high and fuck? You get to top,” and Derek says, “Don’t be ridiculous,” and hangs up. _Your dick is the best dick :(_ Stiles texts him, and Derek tells him to go drink some water and maybe eat a sandwich.

That weekend he drives the four hours down to Stiles’ campus. Stiles comes out to meet him. “Oh my God,” he says, pushing his fingers into Derek’s beard, pressing their mouths together in a series of hurried not-quite-kisses, “I can’t wait to get you out of that leather jacket, fuck, you look so hot, I need you in me.”

Half an hour later Stiles is pulling off his dick with a slick popping sound to tell him, “I sucked off this dude the other day but you taste _so_ much better,” and Derek touches his cheek and deadpans, “That’s one of the most romantic things anyone has ever said to me,” and Stiles grins at him, shameless, and says, “I learned a new trick, you should hold my head down for this one. I’ll count to three, all right? One, two—”

 

* * *

 

Stiles starts sending him videos.

Derek jerks off more often than he has since sophomore year.

 

* * *

 

“I miss your fingers,” Stiles tells him heatedly, “no one else can, it’s that twist and drag thing you do, or maybe it’s just the thickness of them— I’ve tried, all right, but no, fuck, no one else manages to, fuck, Derek, your fingers—”

Derek shifts his phone to his other ear and says, “Hang on, I’m gonna go look for lube,” and the sound of Stiles’ next moan is loud enough to make his ears ring.

 

* * *

 

It’s not like Derek was expecting it, exactly, but he’s also not necessarily surprised (he’s just pleased) when:

“I think I might’ve accidentally given up on sleeping with other people,” Stiles says.

Derek says, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I don’t know, man. It’s like your dick is magic or something.”

“Sure,” Derek says. “My dick.”

Stiles makes a noise. “Well, yeah, okay, and your fingers. Your mouth.”

“What about my dazzling personality?”

“Um,” Stiles says. “It’s good enough, I guess.”

“You guess,” Derek says. “Right.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me if I’d considered prostituting myself during the first blowjob I ever gave you. It’s not like I’m the only person in this room who systematically fails at being romantic.”

“In my defense,” Derek says, “that was a pretty great blowjob.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “You gonna add that third finger now, or what?”

**Author's Note:**

> Tag on the original post: #this may or may not be my idea of true romance


End file.
